Dec. 10 is a key date in the life of Thomas Merton: he entered the Trappist monastery, Abbey of the Gethsemani, in Kentucky on that date in 1941, and on Dec. 10, 1968, he died in Bangkok after 27 years as a monk, peace activist, poet, and, above all, prolific spiritual writer.
In commemorating his 45th anniversary, I quote an excerpt from The Hidden Ground of Love, in which Merton outlines the dimensions of selfless compassion:
Meditating on someone else's predicament and generating a strong feeling of compassion can lead us into visualizing that they find relief, comfort, joy, and a uplifted spirit. When we continue to practice this we find ourselves desiring to alleviate the suffering of others. This exercise helps us remain in a state of unrestricted and objectless compassion all the time.
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Friday, May 11, 2012
Limited Understanding
Why do so many people have a limited understanding of human nature? This question often arises when I expect a certain human reaction to a personal or social problem and come away disappointed.
Last week, a man on his way home from our church joined us in the elevator at the parking garage nearby. He complained about the homeless man who's been occupying one of the upper floors of this city garage. "We can't allow that sort of thing around here," he sniffed, expecting the rest of us to agree.
"Certainly not so near the church," I wanted to say. I waited, stunned. Then I did say, "But our church reaches out to the homeless on a regular basis." He ignored this and went his way. So much for Christian compassion. Why does he bother going to church? Does he ever listen to the Gospels?
The next day, one of our neighbors, a woman in her early eighties, who has raised four children and seen something of life and its pain, complained to me about the homeless people (whom she never sees except in the news); it's all because of immigrants, she insisted. When I explained that, from my experience at the Coalition for the Homeless and other contacts, immigration has little to do with the people in central Florida dispossed of their homes by the mortgage meltdown, by abusive men, by drug-related problems, by mental illness. She remained unconvinced.
It was easier for her to blame immigration (foreigners, people not like us).
These two church-going people probably think they're goood in the way one of Flannery O'Connor's characters--Ruby Turpin in "Revelation,"--thinks she's good until she's hit in the head with a book and forced to examine her racism and selfishness. For such people, thinking plays a very small part in their lives. They're the type of people who are probably comfortable with Mitt Romney leading this country.
The meaning of compassion is beyond them. Yet they are not stupid or unfeeling people, just limited in their ability to take in the world around them.
Consider those who say, If only these homosexuals would cure themselves and be changed into "normal people." Or those who say, If only introverted people would just speak up and be more assertive socially, they would be more successful and popular. This example comes from an article by Nara Schoenberg (Tribune Newspapers 5-11-12) about the misunderstood minority of introverted people who have been shamed into thinking of themselves as weird instead of valuing the benefits of the inner life.
I think, too, of a personal trainer I once hired who was totally impersonal, in the way medical personnel often are. I mean doctors who fail to call me by name, who look at my chart rather than me, who fail to listen to what I say if I go beyond the scope of their questions, and who exit the room quickly, without a word of sympathetic understanding or encouragement. I am entitled to three minutes of their time, in most cases--if I'm lucky. I am a number, one of the many numbered patients they see every day in a mechanical way that has little to do with genuine healing.
What's missing in so many people's education is not classroom learning but a feeling-based, compassionate understanding of other people, a willingness to be open to more insight than TV viewing provides, a spirituality not always related to religious practice.
What I have in mind is reading widely as well as listening patiently to others, especially to those who suffer, because we have responsibilities beyond our immediate families and individual lives to the community of which we are an essential part.
The homeless man in the garage may make us uncomfortable, but he is our brother.
At issue are attention, empathy, real listening, and patience--qualities that are hard to acquire but need to be learned if we are to become a better society.
Last week, a man on his way home from our church joined us in the elevator at the parking garage nearby. He complained about the homeless man who's been occupying one of the upper floors of this city garage. "We can't allow that sort of thing around here," he sniffed, expecting the rest of us to agree.
"Certainly not so near the church," I wanted to say. I waited, stunned. Then I did say, "But our church reaches out to the homeless on a regular basis." He ignored this and went his way. So much for Christian compassion. Why does he bother going to church? Does he ever listen to the Gospels?
The next day, one of our neighbors, a woman in her early eighties, who has raised four children and seen something of life and its pain, complained to me about the homeless people (whom she never sees except in the news); it's all because of immigrants, she insisted. When I explained that, from my experience at the Coalition for the Homeless and other contacts, immigration has little to do with the people in central Florida dispossed of their homes by the mortgage meltdown, by abusive men, by drug-related problems, by mental illness. She remained unconvinced.
It was easier for her to blame immigration (foreigners, people not like us).
These two church-going people probably think they're goood in the way one of Flannery O'Connor's characters--Ruby Turpin in "Revelation,"--thinks she's good until she's hit in the head with a book and forced to examine her racism and selfishness. For such people, thinking plays a very small part in their lives. They're the type of people who are probably comfortable with Mitt Romney leading this country.
The meaning of compassion is beyond them. Yet they are not stupid or unfeeling people, just limited in their ability to take in the world around them.
Consider those who say, If only these homosexuals would cure themselves and be changed into "normal people." Or those who say, If only introverted people would just speak up and be more assertive socially, they would be more successful and popular. This example comes from an article by Nara Schoenberg (Tribune Newspapers 5-11-12) about the misunderstood minority of introverted people who have been shamed into thinking of themselves as weird instead of valuing the benefits of the inner life.
I think, too, of a personal trainer I once hired who was totally impersonal, in the way medical personnel often are. I mean doctors who fail to call me by name, who look at my chart rather than me, who fail to listen to what I say if I go beyond the scope of their questions, and who exit the room quickly, without a word of sympathetic understanding or encouragement. I am entitled to three minutes of their time, in most cases--if I'm lucky. I am a number, one of the many numbered patients they see every day in a mechanical way that has little to do with genuine healing.
What's missing in so many people's education is not classroom learning but a feeling-based, compassionate understanding of other people, a willingness to be open to more insight than TV viewing provides, a spirituality not always related to religious practice.
What I have in mind is reading widely as well as listening patiently to others, especially to those who suffer, because we have responsibilities beyond our immediate families and individual lives to the community of which we are an essential part.
The homeless man in the garage may make us uncomfortable, but he is our brother.
At issue are attention, empathy, real listening, and patience--qualities that are hard to acquire but need to be learned if we are to become a better society.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
In Bad Company
Someone once said, "A man alone is in bad company."
Often during the year, and especially during this holiday time, I think not of "a man" so much as of women, mainly widows who live in my community, living in houses that are too big for them. Many, like my neighbor "Ann," are growing increasingly lonely, depressed, and confused as they advance into their late 80s.
Ann has the (annoying) habit of ringing our doorbell each evening as we are eating or preparing dinner. She wants to say something inconsequential to us but important to her. I try to be patient. Her house, which we see only rarely, is never cleaned or even dusted; nothing is thrown away. She lives almost like Miss Havisham in Dickens, surrounded by reminders of the past, hoping to join her husband, dead now 15 years, in heaven.
She rejects any intrusion into her increasingly isolated life; at least she gets to church for some social contact and talks to neighbors, but at Christmas, lacking any family, she will wait to be invited to join someone. The couple who have power of attorney rarely call. What family she has lives in other states and seldom bothers with her.
People should not be alone, especially at this time when family connections or community matter so much. My wife Lynn brings soup to Ann and other things she might eat; others also keep tabs on her, but it is hard to think of her and not wonder how her life will end.
Her memory is poor, her mind slipping; she is not easy to be with. Yet she must be loved.
It so happened this week that I located a blog by the Oxford historian Timothy Stanley (timothystanley.co.uk), who caught my attention by discussing his long visits to a Benedictine monastery. There he rests rather than prays. And he observes a sense of community and compassion missing in our secular society.
He concludes that the modern welfare state--impersonal and vast--could learn a few lessons from the monasteries, which historically offered help to the poor and sick and comfort to those who fled tyranny; the monks suffered along with the people in times of plague and famine. They offered a social net that was personal. It was compassionate.
I don't know how the vast numbers of elderly people living alone today could benefit in a practical way from the monastic ideal--except to say that ordinary lay people who try to live contemplatively and compassionately can create informal communities so that fewer people suffer the loneliness of winter, the emptiness of a Christmas with no one around, with no sense of being loved, at a time when the world is singing about love and joy.
Often during the year, and especially during this holiday time, I think not of "a man" so much as of women, mainly widows who live in my community, living in houses that are too big for them. Many, like my neighbor "Ann," are growing increasingly lonely, depressed, and confused as they advance into their late 80s.
Ann has the (annoying) habit of ringing our doorbell each evening as we are eating or preparing dinner. She wants to say something inconsequential to us but important to her. I try to be patient. Her house, which we see only rarely, is never cleaned or even dusted; nothing is thrown away. She lives almost like Miss Havisham in Dickens, surrounded by reminders of the past, hoping to join her husband, dead now 15 years, in heaven.
She rejects any intrusion into her increasingly isolated life; at least she gets to church for some social contact and talks to neighbors, but at Christmas, lacking any family, she will wait to be invited to join someone. The couple who have power of attorney rarely call. What family she has lives in other states and seldom bothers with her.
People should not be alone, especially at this time when family connections or community matter so much. My wife Lynn brings soup to Ann and other things she might eat; others also keep tabs on her, but it is hard to think of her and not wonder how her life will end.
Her memory is poor, her mind slipping; she is not easy to be with. Yet she must be loved.
It so happened this week that I located a blog by the Oxford historian Timothy Stanley (timothystanley.co.uk), who caught my attention by discussing his long visits to a Benedictine monastery. There he rests rather than prays. And he observes a sense of community and compassion missing in our secular society.
He concludes that the modern welfare state--impersonal and vast--could learn a few lessons from the monasteries, which historically offered help to the poor and sick and comfort to those who fled tyranny; the monks suffered along with the people in times of plague and famine. They offered a social net that was personal. It was compassionate.
I don't know how the vast numbers of elderly people living alone today could benefit in a practical way from the monastic ideal--except to say that ordinary lay people who try to live contemplatively and compassionately can create informal communities so that fewer people suffer the loneliness of winter, the emptiness of a Christmas with no one around, with no sense of being loved, at a time when the world is singing about love and joy.
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